Happy Hunger Games!
by hpfanatic7
Summary: It's the 74th Hunger Games amd the rules are a bit different. No one can volunteer for another person. Prim and Peeta are the tributes for District 12 and Peeta does everything in his power to bring Prim home for Katniss. How does Prim cope with the arena without Katniss? Will Peeta learn to hunt, fight and cook to save Prim. Who will be their allies and their enemies?


**Okay, I know there are probably stories like this already but I'll try and make mine a bit different. I'll try to differ from the actual story too, so it wouldn't be too repetitive and boring. I wrote a short chapter so people could review and tell me if I should go on. So please review! Thank you **

Katniss' P.O.V

"Primrose Everdeen!"

The world is spinning. Colors are flashing before my eyes: Brilliant reds; dull, ashy coal-dust black; greens tinted with bright yellows and oranges, and the bright baby blue of Prim's eyes.

My throat is dry and I hear a faint screaming coming from somewhere, everywhere. It starts low and eventually reaches a high pitch. The type of scream that makes your ears grate and your skin crawl. I could feel it pressing down on me, squeezing me until I feel I could no longer breathe. It takes a while for me to realize that the screaming is coming from me.

I snap back to reality and immediately my mouth shuts and the screaming stops. I don't remember falling, but I must have because I'm rolling around in the sooty dust that settles over everything in District 12. Several pairs of hands try to help me up but I push them away, already embarrassed. I hop off the ground- my legs wobbling more than usual- and immediately push through the gaggle of children, my peers, watching me with sad, concerned eyes.

"Prim," I yell loudly as I stumble into the clearing dividing the boys from the girls. She is already halfway there, escorted by four Peacekeepers, their uniforms gleaming unnaturally bright in the sunlight.

"Katniss," she answers desperately, her blond pigtails flying as she turns towards me.

No. They can't take her. Not Prim. Not my little sister. She wouldn't survive it! Not the girl who screams at spiders or who gets over-excited when she sees new cookies on display at the bakery. Not the girl who sleeps with her mother at night or who cries when I kick Buttercup too hard. She would never survive the brutality, the barbarism, the savagery that is the Hunger Games.

I lunge toward her as two burly Peacekeepers grab my arms and lift me a few inches off the ground. They must be new because I have never seen them around the Hob before. Or probably they're re-enforcements for the Reaping. Extra security. Not as if District 12 ever needed them in the past.

"Get off me," I shout, elbowing one of them in the eye. I watch in horror as Prim is half-carried, half-dragged to the stage. Tears are streaming down her eyes and her screams mingle with mine.

"Prim!"

"Katniss!"

"Prim! No! Prim, you can't go. "

"Katniss!"

Prim is finally shoved on stage, stumbling on the steps as she makes her way towards Effie.

"Well, well," says Effie Trinket, who looks slightly unsettled. "Why don't you come on up, dear. Come on now. I don't bite you know," she says to Prim, with a little giggle. Prim looks so scared, so innocent, so tiny next to Effie in her colorful costume and high heels.

"So, Primrose Everdeen," she says, breaking into a large grin, "You are District 12's newest female tribute." She says the last few words with a flourish, obviously expecting applause. No one claps.

"And I bet that girl down there is your sister," she chirps, unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm of the audience.

Prim nods. Tears come streaming down her eyes again.

"It almost looks like she doesn't want you to go, doesn't it? Probably wanted her own name to be reaped! Probably wished that she could go instead of you! But we all know that's against the rules. But don't worry; you won't let her steal all the glory, won't you? Even if she is your big sister."

Glory? Glory?!

That's it. I begin thrashing against the arms of the Peacekeepers just as they had begun to loosen their grips. They tighten their hold on me, forcing to keep me down. I may be small but all of the years of hunting had made me strong.

"Prim! Prim!" I yell as I kick, bite, scratch and elbow every bit of the Peacekeepers that I can get a hold of. My eyes are trained on Prim, standing almost angelically onstage, as I squirm against the Peacekeeper's arms. Then, all of a sudden, my head feels heavy as a sharp pain emanates from a point on the side of my head. Slowly, I watch as the image of Prim gets totally engulfed in darkness.

Peeta's POV

There's a collective gasp as Katniss crumbles to the floor. Even I gasp, though it's an embarrassing thing to admit. Such audible gasps are really not very manly. On the stage, Primrose, Katniss' tiny blond sister, falls to her knees, screaming out her sister's name.

Out of nowhere, Gale comes bursting through, hurtling towards the Peacekeepers.

Gale. That's all I know. I don't know his last name. Never bothered to find out. I know he's from the Seam. I know he has a whole gaggle of brothers and sisters, though I don't know any of their names. I know he's older than us, and by us, I mean me and Katniss. I know he's 'ridiculously handsome' with 'beautiful tan skin and wavy hair and dreamy gray eyes'- as all of the girls describe him. And I know he spends a heck of a lot of time with Katniss: They hunt together, they trade at the Hob together, they sometimes show up at my house together, trading squirrels with my father for loaves of bread. Well, I guess I do know a lot about him.

He immediately swings at the nearest Peacekeeper, producing another audible gasp from the audience. He misses by a few inches but the Peacekeeper doesn't take any chances. He hits Gale on the temple with his knuckles, just like he did with Katniss. Gale is much bigger and stronger than Katniss, however, and doesn't black out immediately. He staggers to the side, looking dazed. The Peacekeepers don't hesitate. Two more pounce on Gale from behind while the original two punch him in his stomach. They're aware that the cameras are watching, though, and they don't overdo it. They hit him just enough so that he is barely conscious and somewhat subdued. They drag Gale away from the square but not before he lets out a stream of District 12's finest curse words. And then some.

Another pair rushes in to carry Katniss away, probably towards her mother who is crying hysterically at the back as she watches her children helplessly.

A resounding, uncomfortable silence blankets the square, punctuated sporadically by Primrose's sobs as she cries onstage. Nothing like this has ever happened in District 12. Usually, when the tributes are called, they walk towards the stage in silence, heads down, fingers shaking, meekly marching towards their fate as sheep about to be slaughtered. Weak, starving, disheveled, defeated sheep. Sheep with black, sooty wool as nothing can escape the gritty black coal dust of District 12.

The silence continues, swelling and ballooning until it's almost annoying and makes you want to be sick. Then it bursts, the silence shattered by utterings from the crowd. Sad murmurs from adults who hate it when twelve-year olds get reaped; Angry mutterings from citizens sick of the injustice and cruelty of the Hunger Games and the whole damn Capitol; Stunned conversations between members of my class who wonder how Katniss will deal if Primrose dies. They fill the square, the words buzzing like a mob of angry wasps trying to attack you and sting your face off.

As if to top it off- the icing on the cake, if you will- Haymitch Abernathy stumbles on stage, clutching a bottle and looking out-of-this-world drunk. Haymitch is the only living victor from District 12. There was another one, a woman, but she died a long time ago. Rumor has it that Haymitch was smart, and was once very robust- well he had to be, if he won his Games- but presently he is reduced to drinking bottles of white liquor a day and looking like a bum. He tried to hug Effie again, much to her displeasure, and only succeeded in slopping half of the bottle down his shirt. Effie gave him a push and he staggered backward, changing direction and heading for Primrose instead. He threw his arms around her and she winced, wrinkling her nose at his stench. It couldn't be a pleasant scent at all; fresh liquor mixed with the scent of musty, five-day-worn underwear, morning breath and just a hint of perspiration. Of course I'm just speculating. But Primrose didn't need to endure his pleasant aroma for long because Haymitch, trying to take another swig of alcohol, trips over his own feet and fell of the stage, sprawling face-down in the dust. No one bothers to pick him up this time.

Mayor Undersee looks thoroughly embarrassed as he sits fidgeting in his chair. District 12 has always been the underdog of Panem and this afternoon's proceedings couldn't have improved our reputation one bit. Or maybe it could. Nothing so exciting ever happens in 12, if you want to call that excitement.

Effie Trinket looks absolutely mortified. And it shows. Her bright pink curls, the color of sugar roses on wedding cakes, are askew and is obviously a wig as tufts of short auburn hair can be seen spiking out at the sides. The front of her suit has received collateral damage from Haymitch's mishap as the parts that were doused with alcohol are a lighter shade of green than the rest of the suit. She's probably praying for another district next year. I wonder why she always ends up in this dump? Clutching her wig, she waddles her way back to the podium and tries to regain some semblance of order.

"Well," she squeaks, her voice higher than usual, "quite an exciting day in District 12! Let's move on to the boy tribute now!"

Effie's lost her usual luster and her words are very rushed and are almost incomprehensible under her thick, pretentious Capitol accent. She seems like she's trying to finish this quickly and I'm grateful. I can't really take more of this. My insides feel numb as I watch Primrose Everdeen on the stage. I was praying that Katniss' name wouldn't get called but this….this is worse. She looks so helpless and tiny on stage. One of her pigtails is loose, spraying golden curls down her shoulder. Her blue blouse is disheveled and clearly too big for her as half of it flops down over her skirt, which has twisted to one side. She has stopped crying but her expression is blank, vacant, almost as if she has given up. That breaks my heart more than the tears.

"Peeta Mellark"

The voice rings through the air. I feel like I'm back in History class, staring at Katniss as she looks sullenly out of the window, clearly not giving a crap about the Treaty of Treason and how District Twelve became known for coal. I can only see half of her face, olive-colored and smooth. Her lips are set into a scowl and her dark hair is in a single braid that falls halfway down her back. I swear that parts of her braid sparkle as the sunlight hits her hair.

"Peeta Mellark!"

The voice of Ms. Dewbury, our History teacher, disrupts my gazing. Oh Crap! She most likely wants the answer to some pointless question like 'who was the first President of Panem?', an answer I can't give because I've been staring hopelessly at Katniss for the past half hour. Why does she always choose me? And why does she always say my full name? It's so weird.

"Peeta Mellark?"

I snap from my reverie. This isn't History class. And that voice is way too preppy, way too high-pitched and way to Capitol-y for Ms. Dewbury. I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I look toward the stage. I see Effie Trinket, one hand clutching her wig and the other holding a white slip of paper.

Oh Crap.


End file.
